THE STORYTELLER

Waikato Times, Volume 96, Issue 15033, 2 September 1922, Page 12 (Supplement)

THE STORYTELLER

? ’ (All Rights Reserved.)

The Rattle of the Looms ir ;'„ j,; . . / By , FRANK H. SHAW. Author of “The Love Tides,” “The Bondage of Hate,” et<^, CHAPTER XIII. — (Continued), “In The King’s Name.” “You are Bessie Briggs—Elizabeth Briggs?” The girl’s face was a bit white, because, as she lifted her eyes to meet those of the coroner, her glance had travelled onwards, to fix itself oil the face of James Broolces and the thought came swiftly to her that a devil was working within the man whom once . she had. loved and now hated with all .. the force of her ardent nature. If Brookes rose and challenged her, if he spoke,half a dozen words, the truth of their association would be known by all Midchester before the day was out, and some busybody would most certainly convey the news to her father s ears. But she remembered that tarnborough had been kind to her in many •ways— a he would place her linger on very many acts of generosity on his "Yes, my name is Bessie Briggs, she said in a low voice. She was not aware that her great eyes, one of hei -loveliest features, had flashed an appeal to Brookes. “Swear the witness,” said the coroner, and it was done. “You have a statement to make concerning the man who is present in custo"Yes, sir. 1-Ie can’t have committed this murder, he can’t. Mr tarnborough wouldn’t do such a thing. Wh>, with, my own eyes I saw him bind up a hurt dog that had been lamed by dims that th’ lads had thrown at it—’ , “i' m afraid this hardly bears on the case. If you cannot give us more information than this. ” • . "But I can. I met Mester FarnbOroug'h that night, away up above Laithe End. He stopped and spoke to me.” "Ah, that is better. You swear you met this man on the night in question?” “Yes, sir, afore God. 1’','”.;.., “At what time? Be very accurate on • this point, and let me remind you that to give false evidence is a punishable offence. Now, at what time was it you i met Farnborough?” “At half-past eight sharp.” There .’• . was a fresh stir amongst the audience, and the jury bent their heads together. “You are certain of this? Thera can. be no mistake; It was half-past eight ” “I’m sure, because it was eigut' when I went out, an’ everyone knows -tHL’s, half an hour’s walk to Laithe End ‘ —hard walkin’ at that.” She saw that .. f -Brookes was beginning to lift himself from his seat, and fear olutched her. Then she was aware of an impulse. “I was goin’ to th’ end o’th’ moor, . she said, staring hard at the manager. “To th’ place what overlooks th’ owd V; r ' --quarry.” Brookes reseated himself with somewhat elaborate slowness. •It hardly matters where you were ~ m going The faot that you met Farn-.-.borough at Laithe End suffices, if it can •. be proved.” „ , >, ■ “i’ll prove it.” It was Ben Frodsham’s voice, thrill and was wi’ Bessie when she seed him.” •rt-vra 'The coroner motioned the hunchih- .' back to silence and frowned formidably. He resumed his examination of Bessie, quite evidently intending to shake her testimony, but she stood firm to what she had said, and when ■-'.r she was dismissed there was almost a sigh of relief from many of the lis- •' teners. Ben Frodsham thrust himself iV'- - forward and insisted on giving evidence. He was sworn. "You are prepared to state, on your oath, that you met Farnborough at half past-eight-at Laithe End?” The hunchback licked his lips, drew in a deep tv. Yvbreath and shouted, literally shouted: rq - "Yes,” And perhaps Those who keep the Books of Judgment blotted out the record of the lie with a tear as they entered it For it was the twisted lad’s idea of repayment, and when all is said and - done It was . a noble lie, coming as it ?dicl -from one_ who was notoriously truthful. I-Ie was cross-examined, but adhered strictly to his statement, and when he , was he cast a triumphant glance at Farnborough, as one who would say: “I’ve got even with you now, anyway.” There were other witnesses, but ■their, . evidence was - hardly of any weight., One of the dead man’s servants was questioned as to whether ■. she knew anything of his private life which might cast a light on his sudden end; but she knew nothing, ex- ,. . cept that she'd heard the other servant tell a.queerish sort of story of which she could never get the rights, to the effect that she had once heard a man tell Mr Benson that he wished he was dead.

“Do you-know who the man was?” No, she didn’t know; Mary Emma had just told her that it was . someone who.’d been in to sec' her master. And Mary Emma had left, being under notice at the time, and no one knew precisely whither she had gone. “Do you think this man who made the threat was the man whom you see standing before you?” “What, him? No fear, mester?” Joshua Benson had not engaged London servants. “No, it warn’t him; this chap corned in a molly-car, so Mary Emma did say, an’ Mester Farnborough don’t ride i’ mottys, bein’ a workin’ chap, same’s ourses.” “That concludes the evidence of the witnesses, gentlemen,’ said the coroner, as the laughter subsided, lie then proceeded to sum up concisely. Certain pieces of circumstantial evidence pointed to Farnborough as the culprit. The stick with which the murder had been done was his, he admitted that. Boots which fitted the footprints in the road were also his. To some minds such evidence would be conclusive, but. he would point out lhat strange coincidences occasionally happened, and there was no evidence of any illwill existing between the dead man and Farnborough. On the same hand they had the evidence of two witnesses to the effect that they had seen the accused man at the time the murder must have taken place, according to the medical evidence. But they must weigh all these conflicting statements carefully, with the idea of assisting justice, and so he left the matter in their hands. The jury retired, people began to chat. Farnborough looked squarely before him. He knew that men had been hanged on less evidence than had been brought against, him, and he hud not been human if lie had not known biting qualms of fear. And even as it was,

the prison taint was on him; he had spent many hours in a cell, and the stigma was bound, to cling. People whom he had known well now' looked at him askance. Josiah Benson, old and while, his hands shaking, refused to meet his foreman’s eye. The jury were returning, there was a stir. “Well, gentlemen, have you decided on .vour verdict?” “We have. Wc And that the deceased was wilfully murdered by some person or persons unknown.” Farnborough suddenly sat down, his knees failing him. Ben. Frodham swung his cap into the air. “Hurray, hurray.” he shrilled, and would have continued but that Bessie drew him down beside her, CHAPTER XIV. Brookes’ Proposal. Farnborough, a free man once more, attended Joshua Benson s funeral, which was followed by many people, though the working-classes were conspicuous by their absence. But he was not present at the reading of the will, which left a sum of eight thousand pounds to Bryan Holroyd, son of the testator’s friend, Sir Thomas Holroyd. To his beloved niece Muriel he left certain personal gifts, knowing, as he said, that she would be liberally provided for by her own father. He also left a stated sum to all such employees of Benson’s as had served the Arm for a certain period, Many people were surprised at the comparative smallness of the amount dealt.with. It had been believed that Joshua was a warm man, although he w'as merely a minor partner in the firm, the elder brother being the mainstay. A codicil, dated a fortnight before his death, cancelled the legacy to Holroyd, giving no reason whatever. And the matter was forgotten almost at once for Midchester had other things to think about than the death of one old man, who had never shone in the limelight of publicity. Farnborough grieved sincerely over Young Josh s death, and Muriel Benson did the same. Recent events had been giving the girl serious cause for thought; the fear she had known during the night ot the attack on Bridge House had altered her in some subtle fashion. She was gentler, less haughty, and, so barnborough would have it, more beautiful than ever. , „ „ nlf Not that he had any cause for selfcongratulation on the strides he was making towards the gratification of his own desires. Muriel seemed further off than ever; when he saw her now she was constantly in the company of her cousin, who had been away from Midchester for a few days, but who had now returned, and was staying ai Bridge House. Not that he. saw them often, but there were occasions when he went to the big house, now repaired to communicate’such items as he had gleaned of the trend of affairs m the town. On such occasions Muriel and Holroyd were always together and Farnborough’s heart gave him pangs as he saw the intimacy that existed between the pair. ’ ■ , She was not for him, and he had allowed himself to dream in vain But the dogged Yorkshire half of him refused to allow him to .despair utterly, he knew how to fight a losing fight, and until she was actually married to this man, his rival, he would persist in dreaming. James Brookes was a frequent visitor to’Bridge House, too, but the manager saw little there to give him pleasure. Muriel treated him with a certain amount of indifference which annoyed him, and Holroyd gave him but small courtesy. All things seemed to be at sixes and sevens during the week that immediately followed the death of Joshua- Benson; but the strikers remained inactive. At the mill matters were at a deadlock —work was slopped, no longer did the tall chimneys belch forth their clouds that spoke of humming industry, the rattle of the looms, which was as the mighty voice of prosperity, the crooning cry of very life, indeed, was hushed. Lulled to a sense of security by the strikers inaction, the troops had not been summoned; constant police patrols guarded the works, extra men had been drafted into the town, and that was all. . , James Brookes was not happy, nc was very far from being happy. He had schemed cunningly to bring about certain events, and whilst some ol these had succeeded he seemed as fat from his main point as ver. He was in love with Muriel Benson, more m love than ever; his passion, such as it was tore at his brain and made him well-nigh mad with longing. But instead of elevating him this so-called love degraded him, as it will degrade some men. A noble love was a thing undreamed of by the manager. He was prepared to go to any extremity to gain his purpose; but he, like Farnborough, could not but notice the bond between the girl and her cousin. On a night when sleet fell thickly, and the moorland • wind boomed , and crashed through the town. Brookes walked swiftly towards Bridge House. He had made up his mind to a definite conclusion, and the sooner he put his thoughts into acLion, lie said the better. . “I wish to sec Miss Benson, he said, when the door opened. “No, not Mr Benson, Miss Benson.” 11c was shown into a lounge, which was unoccupied. Muriel, who had been in the drawing-room at the piano, frankly surprised at his request, appeared, her amazement showing on her face. Bryan Holroyd was absent that n jrr)it—he had made an .excuse before dinner, and had driven-away in his ear. "You wanted to see me, Mr Brookes?” asked the girl. "My falher i s in his study, lie complained of a headache— —” “11, was not your father I came to see, Miss Miirici. What I have to say is for your ear.” She was impressed by his manner. This, she said,would bo more trouble, Ossa piled on Pelion, and she was to he the instrument to break it gently to her father. She went a little while and threw out her hand, which Brookes promptly seized. “There is no cruise for alarm, he said. “This is a personal mailer. Miss Benson. Muriel — my dear Muriel, you must have seen for a long lime how it -is with me. I lovp you most devotedly, and I want you In he my wife." She lore her hand away from him and stood apart, erect, quivering with indignation, all tier nature up in arms against something impalpable about Ibis man to which she could attach no name.

-Mr Brookes- —I don’t think ” she began, but he interrupted tier impetuously. “I have taken yon by surprise, perhaps. But there is no insult in an honest man’s love—and 1 love you '•'ith alt rny heart. I live tor you, I dream of you—you have wound yuurselt about my very bring." 'A itti *ueh windy nloqnenci; tiiul iie Wooed Bessie Briggs to her fall, and bud Itie girl been there she might have recognised the identical words.

“I am afraid that you have made a mistake, Mr Brookes,” began Muriel faintly, and then, gathering her selfcontrol: “I do'not know whether you wish to be impertinent, or whether you are merely ”

i “Stay, don’t treat me lightly. I tell you that it is in my power to save your father a considerable amount of trouble and it all depends on your answer to me to-night.” He had said more than lie intended, and bit his lip at the discovery. “I don’t think vou will persuade me by threats,” said Hie girl. There was a curious, womanly air about her that had not been present before the strike. “And to save you from unnecessary trouble, I will tell you that- —that I cannot give you any reason to hope. I —I did not expect this, Mr Brookes.” “.You must have known that I’ve loved you ever since you came back from school,” he said impetuously, desperately in earnest, because now that she seemed afar off she was all the more desirable. He possessed the instinct of the hunter that led him to pursue and kill the game he sought. “Im afraid I never gave the matter any thought,” she said, “And now, if you would like, to see my father

“There’s time enough yet; you’re little else but a child; you don’t know your own niind. What’s your fault with me? I’m not old, I’m barely forty, and my heart’s young.” “I have no fault to find with you, but I cannot compel myself to love you, Mr Brookes.” And then, quite suddenly, he stepped forward. He had wooed girls of a humbler class in his erotic career, and believed in the power of the strong arm and the ready heart. Before she could tell what he would be at his arms had closed about tier, tic was crushing her to his breast and kissing her bps fiercely, cruelly, unheeding her struggles. “I’ll make you love me,” he said, “Come, you’ve drawn me on enough with those eyes of yours—you beautiful devil, you 1” She cried aloud, but no one heard her. He bore her backwards, and the. seven devils of bestiality showed in his 4yes. She saw his agony of passion,, arid great fear snatched at her; but with the l'car came a strength she could not have believed herself to possess. She thrust him away from her, she struck him sharply on the mouth, and a little ring on her finger drew blood. And before he could recover from the lllrprise—other women had feigned anger at his embraces, they had even slapped his cheek,'but there was invitation in the blows —she had darted away, up the broad, stout stairs, and so Lo -her own virginal room, where she flung herself down on the bed and cried as though her heart would break.- Every maiden sensibility was outraged; she was frightened; this, /was' an experience she had never known before. And, curiously enough, it was not of her father or of Ryan Holroyd that she thought, but of Farnborough, her father’s foreman. He had stood between her and harm before, and if he had been there then were stow in coming; her grief was half rage. Meanwhile Brookes, amazed at her vehemence, unsettled as to his future conduct, hesitated in the lounge. “Curse her!” he said savagely. “Curse her! I’ll bring her to her knees yet. A daughter of Owd Josh daring to give herself airs like this I’ll humble her pride, the jumped-up beggar I’ll make her so that she’ll be glad to come to me on her knees and ask me to marry her. I’ll —I’ll—” He fumed himself hjto calmness, though the warped mind was busy nevertheless. But when Owd Josh, who had been sleeping in his study, came into the hall he found Brookes self-possessed and confident as usual.

“Well, Brookes, well —they didn’t tell me you were here. Anything wrong—anything' fresh?" particular, ’sir. But I think they’re weakening. Another few days ought to see them grovelling for mercy. There’s famine in the town;, they’ve sold all they can sell; they can’t endure much longer. Oh, but they’ve had their lesson —they’ve had their lesson.”

“You think they’ll come lo hetel? You know how it is, Brookes, you know how it is.” A lot of the old-time arrogance had vanished from Benson’s manner now; he knew what ho knew, and the knowledge brought him no peace. “We can only complete these contracts by .working all day and all night; and if we fail —if we fail ” He broke off, and paced quickly up and down the''floor.

“There’s more of our designs been .copied, too/’ he said irrelevantly. "Trickery everywhere; and nothing coming in. I tell you what it is, Brookes: if we don’t complete those contracts on time we’ll be ruinedruined, d’ye hear? Joshua’s share in the mill has to he realised—that’s a fresh drain. I can’t get anyone to buy his share unless we can show a big" balance; times have been bad, and the strike ” "The strike will soon be over.”

“I hope so.. If it isn’t —I don’t know. There’ll be only one thing for it, and that it to meet the men and surrender. Every day means a nail in my coffin.”

“But you won’t weak now—now, when we’re on the brink of victory, Mr Benson! It would be absurd! You’d have them out again in a month, asking for more. There’s no limit to their powers of asking. But my advice is to drive the lesson home.”

"Yes, yes, you’re rigid,. Wc must stand up for our rights, cost what it may. But I wish— ” Brookes hammered home forceful arguments I hat to a man in the first flush of his strength and brain-power might have sounded mere ran tings; but Owd Josh was growing old, and his mind did not seem so clear as it once had been.

“And I’ll give you a hint, Mr Benson. There's that' man Farnborough —lie’s dangerous. Playing a double game. .1 firmly believe lie did kill your brother. Those who swore io Ills alibi were worthless—people of bad repute, so I hear. The woman was a flame of his; lie’s notoriously immoral; and the sooner lie’s got rid of the better. I’ve heard a word here and a word there which shows me how the wind blows. He’s as much at the bottom of this strike as anyone.”

“Farnborough? But he helped us. here when the devils attacked the bouse, and at the mill to. They discharged him williol a stain on his elinraeler.”

••Yes, yes. The man is superficially all right, but it's only superficial, lie preaches loyalty to you, but he preaches rank anarchy to the men. I’d dismiss him: not that he’s actually in your employ now, but he comes and goes at the mill as if tiie place belongs to him.”

“He can’t be what you say. It was Farnborough who brought that bomb Imre. We never followed that matter up. by the way. And lie helped against the strikers, tie fought well." “just a pose. He hopes to be admitted to your favour, and then lie'll try to bring you to sympathise with bis fellows. A bad tot, 1 call him. and some of these days you’ll find my words true."

"Well, may be, maybe ; he shan’t Lie employed again. A pity, a pity; .Joshua liked iii lll . But I’ll hear in mind, and now—l’m tired, Brookes-”

“rn go, sir, I’ll go. Shall I take it, then, that you’re going to hold out?” , “Yes, yes, for a little while. But we can’t "hold out much longer, we can’t hold out much longer." 9 Brookes let himself out. His experience of women led him to believe that Muriel would keep lo herself the story of what had happened in her father’s absence. Women did not tell these things; they locked them up in the secret places of the heart. And in a little while, now that Hie new plan had come into his brain, there would be no need to bide it all. He would not be the suppliant then—he could dictate terms arrogantly, bring that wench on her knees in pleading humiliation —it was a pleasing dream, and his face was twitched into an ugly sriiile as he walked down the drive, through the ruined garden. At the gate he paused and looked back towards the house. “So you’re beginning to weaken, are you, Owd josh? That won’t do, that won’t do. We can’t start work yet a bit; we mustn’t finish those contracts. And I know the way to stop it —and that ruin for you. Yes, yes, it’s quicker and better, and I want you ruined; I want that girl of yours to grovel in the mud.” He was of the melodramatic type, he loved a situation: he was able to imagine Muriel entreating him to save her father’s good name. And he would do it —on conditions. “That, young whelp of a Holroyd won’t look at tier when she’s penniless,” he thought, swinging away down the road. “And then I come in. CHAPTER XV.

[Wore Trouble at Bridge House,

It was the following night, and Farnborough, feeling the lack of regular work, strapped a punching ball to the ceiling of his room, took off his coat, and indulged himself in ten minutes bard sparring, lie had always kept himself in first-rate condition and muscutarty he was a giant. He danced and dodged as the ball rebounded from his onslaughts, remembering many tricks ho had been taught in olden times, before ambition came to spur him on to greater things than mere bodilv perfection. Five years before he had studied diligently under a prizefighter in Beltersfleld, a man who bad been the possessor of a name to conjure with the prize ring, but who now sat at ease in a sporting public-house, bought with his earnings. He rested for a moment, glowing with active strength, then he resumed his onslaught.-The ball thud-thudded lo and fro, and he did not notice that the door had opened to give ingress to Ben Frodsham, who stood on the threshold watching admiringly. The hunchback would have given ten years of his life for the activity of the foreman, and a heavy sigh surged up from his heart as he stood there. “Well, Ben, what is-it?” Farnborough drove the ball to the roof with a deft uppercut, .arid dropped into ■ a tchajr, fanning himself' With one of the gloves. ' , “I’m thinkin’ Jim Pickard wouldn t crow so big if he met thee,” said the hunchback. ‘Nay, I nobbut dropped in like.” “Have you found out anything yet about who stole my boots out of ibis room and put them back ” asked Farnborough.- Ben had constituted himself unpaid detective, and because he was looked on as half-witted and altogether harmless, went hither and thither without much questioning. But now he shook his head.

“Nay, I can’t find nowt, lad.” “It must have been somebody who knew my movements pretty well.” “There’s a sight o' folks knows them; tha’s not too welt liked by th’ many here i’ Midchester, Mester Farnborough. They all thowt you’d side wi’ ’em i’ th’ strike, an’ when you didn’t ” “That’s old news now, though. Well, anything fresh What do the men think about getting back to work.” Even since he had lied on Farnborough’s behalf the hunchback had haunted his footsteps like a faithful dog; it was as though he felt responsible for his continued safety. He was made completely happy by being sent .on a messagefijy the foreman, and such message lie would perform with the utmost fidelity. Farnborough motioned him- to a chair, and the lad squatted ■in it, his long arms drooping down until they nearly reached the floor. ■■“ Nay. I don’t know what you think. There’s some says Yes, and some says No. There’s some on ’em” —he sank his voice —“some on 'em reckons as how Owd* Josh needs to be taught a right lesson.' Dost ta see?” “You mean—more rioting?” “So I’ve heard. Happen I dreamed it,, though. Mester Farnborough, is there owt i’ me a woman ’uld like?" Farnborough, gazing kindly at the warped figure, saw beyond it to the clean soul and the loyal heart within. ‘Why not, lad?—it isn’t the body that counts, it’s the heart and the brain. But who’s the woman?" "Nay, that ’uld be tollin'. Eh, but slm’s a beauty is Bessie." “Oh, so that’s how the wind sits, is it? Well, lad, you’re aiming high. But you’re not the only one, and whilst there's life there's hope. And now I’m moving off, Ben.” He unfastened the gloves and drew them off, donned his coat, and reached for his hat. It was a new one, bought that very day—a stout felt affair.

He was going to Bridge House to convey to Mr Benson the news lie had heard" concerning the suggestion of violence on the part of the strikers. And as it was extremely likely that he would see Muriel it was necessary that lie should look his best. lie tried to delude himself into the belief that these visits to Hie big house were solely on his employer’s behalf,but his inward heart knew that had Muriel not been Benson’s daughter, he might have been lacking in zeal. “An’ I’m off for a walk wi’ Bessie — up on Hi’ moors," said Ben. “We go on to lh’ moor-top, an’ tfl’ wind sings to 1.1 s; it tells us fairy tales —it. tells ’em to me. Tells me I’ll be straight an’ strong someday, an' not as 1 am now. ’Neel., Mester Farnborough.” lie stumbled down the stairs, and Farnborough heard his footsteps drag themselves away. “Poor Ben!” he thought, eommiseralingiy. "He’s hitched liis wagon to a star, loo —its a funny, funny world.” He wrapped himself in 1 1 is overcoat and left the house, walking briskly. because the night, though dry, was cold. “If they only buy that, shuttle," he thought, striding along, “my star mayn’t he so unattainable as I thought. Well, we'll sec. And even if a man can't, marry the woman he loves he can serve her. He can spend himself in her service; and to a man who loves truly, there shouldn't he any sacrifice lon great for her sake.” It was an excellent sentiment: ■ >ii■ ■ that created a crisp glow about bis heart. 11>- found himself \Y<im l ‘ rin if ever an upporl.un-

ity would arise when lie might serve Muriel Benson, as a cavalier of olden lime. Iter,, bis Foiilli Country mother spoke —and for a while lie allowed the inward voice to hold sway. But as lie turned up the hill that led towards Bridge House, tie shook himself logo l.li ei - and laughed. "This isn’t the Middle Ages; it’s the prosaic tweiiiielh century. And you’re % working man, a weaver—you ought

lo be a machine. There's no chance of playing Lhe cavalier in Mnl.-UesUv.” lie (lid mil notice a mail's figure walking in his i-«a I a reasonable dislie did nul know that he had been followed, as Ben Frodshapi had been followed. If he had known, he would not have cared; he was well able to take care of himself. But the man who followed had observed many thing's—things that if allowed Lo come to fruition, might bear an evil fruit. Farnborough walked on, and despite the sleep incline, contrived to whistle a fragmentary tunc. He was feeling Isomewhat elated to-night; and although he was not blind to the fact that in many minds suspicion still clung to him witli regard to Ihe murder of Joshua Benson, he did not care a rap for the fact. Consciousness of his innocence was an armour against all slings and arrows. He entered the gate 'of Bridge House and walked briskly up the drive. He rang the bell, and the servant —she looked flustered and dishevelled —admitted him. , “Oh, Mr Farnborough, I'm so glad you’ve come. There’s any amount of trouble here. Master's in his study raging up and down, and Miss Muriel — she’s ” Just at that moment Muriel herself stepped towards the door. “Who is it?” she asked in a tired voice that seemed pregnant with horror, Farnborough stepped' inside and announced himself by name. “Is there any way in which I can help you?” he 'asked cheerfully. Here was the opportunity he had imagined, he said. . She came towards him, and his big goodliness found favour in her sight. There was an atmosphere of confident strength about him that appealed to her. “They’ve arrested Bryan—Mr llolroyd—they accuse him of murdering Uncle Joshua,” she said. ’(To be continued next Saturday).